


They Didn't Get to Mourn

by thetoastlives



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Crying, M/M, Masturbation, Other, but ishimarus just, crying and masturbating, so mondo's dead in this, yeah no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetoastlives/pseuds/thetoastlives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishimaru comes, and he looks at the goop on his fingers and he cries harder, because Mondo is dead and all he’s doing is masturbating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Didn't Get to Mourn

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this a million years ago specifically to post on this account and then I never did? So have whatever this is. Comments appreciated yo.

Ishimaru's breath comes out of his mouth hotter than he means and it burns his lips.  His chest heaves- his skin is flushed and heated and shameful.  He is a machine, he is a furnace, he is working his fan in overdrive to cool his heating core, and it is not working.

His hands play more at the insides of his own thighs and he tries not to think about _him_ , about the one he wants and needs and yet cannot have, and yet can never have.  The skin there is soft and creamy white  and he pointedly does not imagine that first time when that man told him every inch of his flesh was like milk, as if it was a joke, as if Ishimaru didn’t need his milk to be drunk.

Hotter than his breath are his tears- and they slide down his face.  He never got to say to the man- to the boy- how he felt, how he was.  He was a child, just like that man was, and he cried more for the one who was forced to grow up in hours instead of years.

“Kyoudai”, he whispers, like the confession to the sin he is in the process of committing.  He slips his fingers around his cock- like his Brother never got the chance to- and pulls his thumb along the most prominent vein, slowly.  He hisses- it’s gentle, but its there, and Ishimaru hates himself for it. That man had seen his vein, and laughed- flaccid, and it was purple and visible and angry, still- Mondo had asked if when he got hard the thing separated from the rest of his cock.  Ishimaru had laughed. Ishimaru hates himself for laughing- laughing, when he should have been holding his Brother’s holy skin and whispering praises where they were deserved.

Ishimaru shivers and a sob wracks him and he starts stroking himself.  It’s slow, and its reverent, and he imagines it’s Mondo’s hand, even though it makes the hole in his heart feel like its going to turn inside out.  He wanted to teach Mondo to love himself the way Ishimaru loved him- he wanted to show Mondo how how wonderful and chaotic and nonsensical and beautiful he was.  He wanted to see the bleeding Mondo hid, he wanted to stitch up Mondo’s wounds and show him how to forgive himself, he-

Ishimaru’s sobs grow more frequent.  Mondo would never get that, he just needed a minute, one minute and Ishimaru could have told his Kyoudai, could have-

Ishimaru bites down on his lip and he isn't sure whether it’s to quiet the sobs or the moans.  He presses his face into the T-Shirt Mondo had left in his room after their sauna contest- it smells alive, almost.  Ishimaru’s smell is starting to permeate it, and the thought that some day, that smell will be entirely gone and he’ll forget that mix of sweat and gasoline and determination, that makes him cry harder.  Sounds are escaping him- his heaving breaths and sobs are punctuated by gasps.

Ishimaru comes, and he looks at the goop on his fingers and he cries harder, because Mondo is dead and all he’s doing is masturbating.

 

 


End file.
